Between What is Right and What is Easy
by SalamancaLaBlanca
Summary: Parallel Universe. After a Quidditch match, Cedric finds a sobbing Hermione and comforts her. An easy friendship grows between the two and soon develops into more. But is that more than the teenagers can handle in these dark times?
1. Prologue

Prologue

"Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them. Even muggles feel their presence, though they can't see them. Get too near a Dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the Dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself...soul-less and evil. You will be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life," Hermione remembered. Those had been Remus' words to Harry upon his inquiry about the horrid creatures.

The definition seemed only too apt to Hermione, even if the words seemed a bit weak. Nothing, she thought, could exactly define the feeling that overcame her whenever she found herself near one of those damned creatures. It didn't happen often, but with them roaming around the Hogwarts Express, Hogsmeade, and now Hogwarts, she was becoming much too well acquainted with them. The day of the Quidditch match, when the dementors had come into the grounds of Hogwarts itself, Hermione had felt her heart shrink in her chest. The constricting pressure, paired with the worry about Harry and his fall, had rendered her useless. While Ron and the Weasleys ran to the hospital wing to see Harry, Hermione ended up sitting at the doors to the Gryffindor locker rooms, her knees tucked under her chin, shivering and sobbing. She had never felt so useless, empty, or miserable.

It was like this that Cedric Diggory found her as he left the Hufflepuff locker rooms. He was feeling rather rotten himself, both from the effects of the dementors and from the match, which seemed absolutely unfair to him. He was on his way to request a re-match when he ran into the sobbing fourteen-year-old, who looked much too young for Hogwarts at just that moment. Her red tie, bushy hair, and despairing face gave away her identity easily, however.

"Granger?" he asked awkwardly, not quite sure how to deal with a sobbing girl he did not even know. "Are you alright?"

The Granger girl nodded clumsily, her jaw clenched tightly. Cedric felt remarkably insensitive; it was obvious she was not alright, but she would say no such thing. He knew that she was Harry Potter's best friend, and so could only imagine how miserable she must feel, particularly when his fall was combined with the dementors' presence and effect. As a prefect, he argued with himself, he had a responsibility to look out for every student's well-being. That included Granger's emotional turmoil. With that resolution, he pushed his own misery aside and sat down next to her, ignoring the rain and the mud.

"Granger, you're obviously not alright. Um… do you… Are you cold?" he finally asked, unsure as to what his course of action should be. Apparently he was not too far off the mark, though, as the girl nodded once more. He took out his wand to cast a warming spell, but stopped himself before starting as realization dawned upon him. The poor girl was not renowned for having very many friends. In fact, the only students known to be friends with her were currently in the hospital wing, where her very best friend laid on a bed, wounded. She did not need a warming spell; she needed a hug. Comfort. A friend. And so, he put away his wand, unbuttoned his outer robe, and pulled Granger closer so that she was sitting between his legs, her head tucked under his chin, warm in his embrace and under his robe. She continued to cry as he held her.

After a while, he realized just how awkward the situation was. He had acted on instinct, putting himself in her shoes; if he were in her situation, he would want to be held and comforted. But he did not even know the girl. He was not her friend or anyone in a situation to comfort her at all. He did not even know her first name. In fact, he probably had done more damage than good; the poor girl had run off to be on her off and suddenly found herself pulled onto the lap of a boy practically three years her senior. He began to pull away from the girl, figuring he might as well put her out of her misery, but Granger gripped his robe tightly and refused to let go. _Well, _he thought, _maybe she really just needs comfort, not matter from whom. _He wrapped his arms around her once more.

"Say, Granger. What is your first name?" he asked after a while.

"Hermione. I'm Hermione," she replied in a quiet, tearful voice, muffled even further by his robes, against which she was hiding her face.

"Well, Hermione, I'm Cedric Diggory."

Her only response was to burrow further in his arms, resting her head on his chest. Her sobbing began to subside. Cedric allowed himself to smile.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

_Dear Ced,_

_Is it OK if I swing by tomorrow? The Weasleys are off to pick up Harry from the Dursleys' and Ginny insists she has to give me a make-over before the Cup. Please?_

_Hermione_

_Dear Hermy,_

_I see how it is. I'm just a back-up plan. Is that it? Maybe I have plans._

_Of course, you know I don't have plans. Come on over. I haven't seen you in a week; the horror! I think my parents miss you._

_Cedric_

_Dear Ced,_

_Do not call me Hermy._

_Hermione_

_PS- I miss your parents, too. I'll floo over after breakfast._

_Dear Hermy_

_Do not call me Ced._

_Cedric_

_PS- My parents will be waiting. Don't know about me. I might have plans._

As planned, Hermione flooed over to the Diggorys's at exactly 9:30. She had made the floo trip from the Weasleys's to the Diggorys's so often over the summer that she no longer felt any nausea or dizziness upon arrival at either of their fireplaces. She no longer arrived as a graceless heap between the ashes any more, but that did not stop Cedric from teasing her about that first floo trip every single time.

"You alright there, Granger? Steady on your feet?" he asked with a teasing smirk on his face. Hermione simply stepped out of the fireplace and walked past him and towards his father, who watched amusingly from the doorstep.

"Hello, Mr. Diggory! It is so nice to see you again!" she exclaimed, leaning in to hug him.

"I could say much the same, missy. Ced here has done nothing but mope since you left last week. I swear, he was never this moody before he met you," he replied teasingly.

"It's just because I hid his broom last time I was here. Isn't that right, _Ced_," she answered, glancing over her shoulder at the older boy.

"Well, Hermione, it's such a pleasure to see you again," Mr. Diggory said, "but I think I will leave you to your own devices now. Keep my boy in line, will you?" he asked teasingly before retreating to his study. Hermione turned back to Cedric.

"He gets to call you Ced."

"I can't very well tell my father what he can and cannot call me, can I?" he asked as he walked towards her.

"But I like the name Ced. It rolls off the tongue. Ced," Hermione continued teasingly, but was cut off when Cedric launched at her and began tickling her madly. "No! Stop! St—" her giggles put an end to her complaints and she contented herself with lying on the ground as she laughed, Cedric by her side.

"Do you surrender?" he asked after a while, the smile on his face betraying his stern tone.

"Alright, alright. I won't call you Ced. But you can't call me Hermy either."

"As you wish. Now, come on. I think I'm finally going to get you at Monopoly," he said, eager to finally beat Hermione, the only person willing to put up with his obsession with the board game.

And so the two friends headed up the stairs to the Diggory's sitting room to spend the morning. After Hermione spectacularly beat Cedric (twice), Cedric decided a change of scenery was necessary and they headed outdoors, for a walk.

"So, are you done with your summer work yet?" Hermione asked amiably as they walked around the Diggorys's property.

"My summer work? Really, Hermione?" Cedric asked amusedly.

"School starts in just over a week! And it's not such a far-fetched question. Ron hasn't even started his yet," she replied defensively.

"Hermione, you know perfectly well I'm not like Ronald. And I thought we were a bit past asking about school work. We're both responsible students; neither of us needs reminders. In fact, I think you need quite the opposite. I swear you care more about my homework than the professors! I'm beginning to think you have ulterior motives!"

"That's not true!" she replied shortly. She looked mildly embarrassed.

"Hermione? What is it?" Cedric asked, picking up on her discomfort.

"Um… well… I was wondering if…" she blushed and looked down, letting her hair cover her face, much to Cedric's annoyance.

"What? Hermione, we're friends. You can ask me most anything. If I don't want to answer, I just won't. No big deal, no embarrassment. OK?"

Cedric hated it when people censured themselves for the sake of their image. He understood that sometimes you have to shelter yourself from judgment, but he did not believe in such a thing between friends. When Cedric Diggory befriended someone, they were friends through thick and thin; there was no such thing as a "sort-of-kind-of friend." Hermione had become his friend so quickly and painlessly he could not even imagine betraying her trust or embarrassing her in any way and he wished she would realize it. Did she think he hung out with third years just for the sake of it? They were friends and her inability to trust in him only weakened said friendship.

"I was just wondering if I could borrow your Charms book, alright? I know, I'm a swot. Fine. I get it. I just… I want to see what you are studying." She said this very quickly and without looking at him, sounding very small. It hurt Cedric to hear her sound so lost.

"Hermione, you're not a swot. You care about your studies; that's a good thing. I'll admit that I do not understand that side of you too well, but I accept it. You don't like Quidditch and Merlin knows you put up with my talking about it constantly. We're friends, Hermione. We're supposed to accept each other as we are. So, if you want to borrow my book, you can. Though, I must say, I don't quite understand why you want a sixth year book. You're only just starting fourth year."

Hermione blushed once more, but this time she did not hide behind her hair and she did not need prompting to answer. "If I know what you're studying, I can help you with your work. I know I'm only a fourth year, but I can help if I know the theory, right?"

As understanding dawned on Cedric, his smile brightened. He understood now. From what he'd seen during the spring term the previous year and through the summer, Hermione was a worrier. She was always looking out for her friends and taking care of them as best as she could, which tended to constitute of making sure they stayed on top of their assignments and studying. Now, she was just trying to take care of him.

"Of course you can. Hermione, you're brilliant. I'll lend you the book when we go back home. I'm sure you'll end up correcting me before the first week of the term is even over."

Hermione smiled at him, all radiance and happiness once more. Cedric smiled back and then turned to continue walking, now in silence. After a few minutes, he felt Hermione's small hand take hold of his. He remained silent and did not look at their hands, but as he intertwined his fingers with hers, Hermione received the response she sought.

Hours later, back at the Burrow, what had seemed like the happiest day in a while to Hermione began to make her feel confused and lost. She had felt so comfortable and at home with Cedric, but when she had had to return to the Burrow he had only hugged her and kissed her cheek, which was definitely more than he had done before, but was still undefined. Something had changed between them, that much was obvious, but she could not tell whether he felt it too, and if it meant the same thing for him as for her. One could hold hands with a friend, right? She held Harry and Ron's hands often, and they hugged, too. Did he just see her as a friend? Or worse, a little sister?

Hermione prided herself in being pragmatic and logical. She did not involve herself in girly situations and tended to look down her nose at the girls in her year who claimed to be in love with their boyfriends. But she did not claim to be in love with Cedric; far from it. She had to admit, however, to a crush. A crush! That sounded so stereotypical, like something she would see in one of those American movies her mother rented for her over the summer. And yet… maybe it was pointless to even think about any of it; Cedric might just have been being friendly. In fact, he probably was. Sure, he'd said she wasn't a swot and he'd held her hand. But what did that mean? He was kind; he wasn't going to swat her hand away.

She groaned into her pillow, exasperated. Why was it all so complicated? She should have just asked him outright. But then the question was: asked what? He was almost seventeen and she was just fourteen (almost fifteen!). And he was brilliant, handsome and popular while she was quiet, mousey, and commonly ridiculed as the school swot. How ridiculous would it be for her to ask him to be her boyfriend? It was just so wrong, and she knew it. Boyfriends were for the pretty, fun girls, not for those who were down-to-earth. But, just for those few hours earlier on the day, it'd been nice to dream. And who wouldn't have such dreams? On top of handsome and intelligent, Cedric was so kind, understanding, fair, and involved. With him, Hermione felt like she could speak of anything without judgment. And he listened, which was much more than she could say for any of her friends.

While Hermione berated herself for (allegedly) deceiving herself, not too far away Cedric's thoughts were also on the day's outing. He had been friends with Hermione for just over nine months and close friends for only five of them. During that time, he had learned so much about her and he was captivated. She was so different from the most other girls at school, who cared about school only so far as to keep their parents satisfied and their preferred career paths open, preferring to devote the bulk of their time to their friends, boys, and discussion of other people's friends and boyfriends.

He realized he was stereotyping, but it was the best way to come up with some sort of reasoning for his attraction to Hermione. She was just… he had no words for it. She was different. She did not seem to put on a mask to be with him and she had no problem with calling him out when she thought he was behaving badly or that he was wrong. Furthermore, she was not afraid to speak up and put her opinions out in the world to be heard. True, she was shy at first, and even now she showed certain reluctance to show her feelings, but when it came to matters such as politics, history, or fundamental beliefs she was well-versed, quite opinionated, and unafraid to speak her mind. Whether she could take criticism or not was a different matter altogether.

In part, that attitude was contributing to his problem. She discussed those matters with such passion that Cedric could not tell whether it was the topic that excited her so much or his presence. He never saw her eyes shining and her cheeks rosy when she talked with Harry and Ron, but then again, he never saw her discuss politics with them either. And so, he was left to wonder whether Hermione really felt something deeper than friendship for him or if she just enjoyed having someone with whom to talk. After all, she was only fourteen. Well, almost fifteen. But that didn't make things much better. He was two years her elder and she was too innocent and young to have a boyfriend. She probably only looked up at him as a big brother sort of figure.

He was taking advantage of the trust she'd placed on him. It had to stop; he couldn't keep daydreaming about her or her doe eyes. She needed someone her own age. He sighed. If only he were fourteen again… but those thoughts brought memories of his classmates when they were fourteen, startling him out of such thoughts. He could not stand the idea of his sweet, innocent Hermione with a boy like that; he knew only too well what their attitudes were towards girls. Hermione needed someone who would appreciate her as an equal, not as a… well… not as a hole to fill or a status symbol. So, maybe… maybe he was better for her. There was only a two year difference between them, and her maturity more than made up for it.

Cedric tossed and turned all night, his thoughts going back and forth between all these convictions. After hours and restless slumber, he finally made up his mind. He would continue on as a friend to Hermione but, at the earliest indication that she sought more than mere friendship, he would be ready to step into the role. She would have to take the first step, however. He'd feel like too much of a lecher otherwise. With that resolution, he finally rested. Unfortunately for him, only an hour later his father came to wake him up. They had to meet the Weasleys for the portkey to the World Cup. And, of course, with them he would see Hermione.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Mrs. Weasley woke Hermione and Ginny up bright and early so that they would have time to shower before the boys took over the house. As soon as she turned around to go finish preparing breakfast, however, the girls got back in bed. It took Mrs. Weasley three tries before the girls finally went downstairs to join the boys. Everybody was tired and grumpy, and so they set out with little chit-chat.

Hermione had grown used to walking around Ottery St. Catchpole because of her frequent visits to the Diggorys', and so did not mind the swampy terrain. The silence around her, however, left her with too much time to think about Cedric and their relationship. She began to grow nervous, fully aware that she would be seeing him shortly. And so, with each step she took her feet seemed to grow heavier and her mood gloomier.

By the time they reached Stoatshead Hill, Hermione felt as if the weight of all her school books combined rested on her chest. She did not see the Diggorys atop the hill, and so relaxed, wondering if, maybe, Mr. Diggory had given in to Cedric's pleas to just take him via side-along Apparition. Cedric had not been much too excited about waking up at two in order to get the portkey. Mr. Diggory's voice, however, interrupted her thoughts and deflated her hopes. Sitting comfortably on some rocks, she saw Mr. Diggory and Cedric.

"Hello, Arthur," Mr. Diggory greeted, "and how very nice to see you again, Hermione. It's been too long," he joked, pulling her into a hug. The Weasleys and Harry stared at the pair in shock. They had been aware that Hermione had befriended Cedric, of course; it was difficult not to notice such things while at Hogwarts, where they spent their every day together. Yet the easy relationship she seemed to have with Cedric's father, who was quite renowned for caring for no one but his child, took them by surprise. Hermione remained oblivious to their shock, however, as she hugged Mr. Diggory back.

"It has, hasn't it? But it's not my fault you retreated into your study yesterday to do serious work, now is it? Ced and I would have been happy to have a third player for Monopoly," Hermione replied jovially. She liked Mr. Diggory and, if she was lucky, his presence would hold at bay any possible one-on-one time with Cedric, which would only lead to awkwardness at this point.

Her hopes were dashed, however, when he turned to discuss the Cup with Mr. Weasley and to inquire about the family. Cedric, who'd been staying at the sidelines, walked over to Hermione.

"I thought I told you not to call me Ced," he said lightly.

"You did," Hermione replied, unsure of his mood. Was he angry or merely jesting? "But your father calls you that and I was talking to him. When I'm talking with professors I call you Mr. Diggory and when I talk with you I call you Cedric. When I talk with your father, I shall call you what he does which, in this case, just so happens to be Ced." Her response was logical and well phrased, she thought, and was a safe bet if he was, indeed, angry. His amused smile, however, wiped any such thoughts from her mind.

"Alright, Hermione," he allowed, stressing her full name, "but we'll see who laughs last. Your name, I believe, has many more possible derivations. Each one more charming than the last. Don't you agree?"

Before Hermione had time to come up with a rebuke, Mr. Diggory called their attention to the time. Everybody huddled close and took hold of the old boot that was serving as their portkey for the day and, just as it began to activate, Cedric wrapped his arm tightly around Hermione's waist, holding her against him. Next thing she knew, she opened her eyes to find herself in a misty moor. The experience of traveling by portkey had been rather uncomfortable and she was not looking forward to repeating it, but she quickly realized she had come out of it better than most. Except for Mr. Diggory, Mr. Weasley, Cedric, and herself, everybody else was spread out on the ground. Understanding dawning upon her, the outrage she'd felt at Cedric's hold melted into gratefulness. She turned around, still in his hold, and smiled up at him.

"Thank you," she whispered, blushing lightly. Cedric blushed as well as their eyes met, a small smile blossoming on his face.

"You're welcome," he whispered back, wrapping his other arm around her now that he no longer needed it to hold the portkey. "Any nausea? Should I worry for my robes?" he asked lightly. But the tone was more amused than teasing and Hermione did not mind. Instead, she shoved his chest lightly before resting her head against it. The steady beating of his heart was relaxing. The brief moment of calm was interrupted by a loud announcement as to their arrival. Hermione and Cedric quickly pulled apart, ignoring Mr. Diggory's knowing glance.

They remained close, however, as Basil told Mr. Weasley and Mr. Diggory about their campsites and, once they began to walk towards the camping fields, they did so hand in hand, all previous awkwardness forgotten. Once it finally came time for the Diggorys and the Weasleys to separate, the pair tightened their hold on each other, unwilling to part ways. Once more, while the Weasley men remained oblivious, Mr. Diggory looked at them knowingly.

"Say, Arthur," he started, "you've only got two tents there, right? And you're seven, aren't you?"

"Ten, actually," Arthur responded somewhat sheepishly, "my three elders are Apparating later."

"Why don't you send Hermione with us? We have a bit of extra room."

Hermione and Cedric looked at each other with wide eyes. They had never expected such a situation, but neither was going to complain. Instead, they turned to look at Mr. Weasley as innocently as they could.

"He has a point, Mr. Weasley," Hermione argued, "that way you don't have to waste a whole tent on just Ginny and me. And I'm sure I can find my way to your tent before the game starts so that I can sit with you. From what Mr. Basil said, your tent is right next to the path, isn't it?"

Mr. Weasley looked dubious, but had to agree that it seemed much less complicated than their current bunking situation and so relented. With a huge smile, Hermione hugged Harry and the Weasleys goodbye and took Cedric's hand, following him towards their campsite. Once there, she helped Cedric set up the tent while Mr. Diggory watched on, looking disgruntled. He was not happy with the anti-magic regulations in place.

Once the tent was set up, Hermione entered it, expecting to find nothing but the tent's fabric and the ground. However, she did a double-take when she entered and found herself in what resembled a small house. She went back outside to look around the tent and then back inside.

"It's bigger on the inside," she stated, not quite sure she could process much more. Cedric rolled his eyes and dragged her further inside, showing her the different sections. There were two bedrooms, a living room, a kitchen, and a bathroom. Hermione was flabbergasted. "The inside's bigger than the outside," she insisted, much to Cedric's amusement.

Even after three full years in the wizarding world, there were some things Hermione could not accept. This break in the relative dimensions in space was a tad too much for her and, without another word, she turned around and left the tent, seeking refuge in the great outdoors. Even there, however, she found herself surrounded by witches and wizards of all sizes and colors. Hermione was overwhelmed. She took a deep breath and began to walk away from the tent, intent in finding someplace to think. Eventually, she made her way into the woods, where she sat down at the foot of a tree, put her head between her knees, and concentrated on nothing but breathing.

Cedric, who had followed Hermione when she left the tent, stood quietly in the shadows, watching her worriedly. Just then, she reminded him awfully of the small girl he had met at the Quidditch pitch nine months ago. He wished there were something he could do to help. Just then, however, the best he could do was watch over her, and so that was what he would do. And, indeed, he contented himself to stand guard over her for the next half hour while she attempted to process this new discovery about what was now her world. After the half hour, she looked up and met his eyes, as if she had known he had been there all along, and gave him a weak smile. Cedric took it as an invitation to join her.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he sat down next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her closer to him. She shrugged against him as her fingers began to trace idle patterns on his chest. "Hermione, what's wrong?" he insisted.

"Nothing. I'm fine. I was just… caught off guard," she replied shortly. It was obvious she did not want to talk about it. Unfortunately for her, Cedric did not believe in brushing such things under the carpet.

"You're not fine; don't lie to me. You know I hate it. What caught you off guard?"

"Sometimes… sometimes I forget," Hermione began, and her voice sounded just as small as it had all those months ago, when her best friend had been lying on a hospital bed.

"Forget what?" Cedric asked, still not understanding. In response, Hermione tensed up in his arms and pulled closer to his chest, as if sheltering herself.

"I forget about magic," she replied, her voice shaking. "Sometimes it's more than others. When I'm with my parents, sometimes I wake up and think Hogwarts has all been a dream. Others, I just… I see something magic, and it doesn't seem real. I can accept some things; levitation, Apparition, putting back together things that are broken… but when I see magic create space where there isn't any… that goes against everything I learned." Her voice softened, as if she were confessing a sin at Mass. "Sometimes, magic makes me hurt. Because I know it shouldn't be real, but it is. And then I just need to get away."

Cedric tightened his hold on Hermione and held her against his chest. The muggle world didn't seem real to him half the time, and he had always known that it existed; he could not begin to imagine what it must be like for Hermione, having grown up as a muggle, ignorant to the existence of magic, to suddenly be thrust into the wizarding world. And she was alone; her parents could not come with her in this journey.

When he was with her, it was so easy to forget that this was not her world. She was so bright and so knowledgeable, and she fit in so well, that he simply did not give a single thought to her childhood. But it was true; she had grown up being told that things were as she could see them and nothing more. That science explained everything. And that magic did not exist. What must it be like, he wondered, to have everything you've ever learned be proved wrong? Particularly for someone like Hermione, who always aimed to learn how things worked and why they worked as such.

Or, he realized as he looked down at the frightened girl in his arms, maybe she was like that because she was aiming to rationalize this world. Maybe, he thought, she had been a vapid little girl before she'd turned eleven; uninterested in how things worked because she didn't have to prove her knowledge or her right to be there. In the muggle world, she fit effortlessly. It was only in the wizarding world—his world—that she struggled to belong. And she did so well nobody noticed when she slipped. If she were like other muggle-borns, constantly asking questions and questioning everything, people would just explain. Some would laugh, but in the end people would tell her. But Hermione had tried to fit in by herself, with no help, and so nobody noticed when she could not understand. Nobody was there to help her. She had to pull herself together alone and dare to go back into the world and face what she had learned could not be and accept it as real. Cedric could not begin to comprehend such courage, and therein laid the answer to his questions as to her belonging in Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw.

Well, no more, he told himself. From then on, he promised silently, he would be there to guide her and help her. She had to know he would never laugh; she could ask and he would answer and he would respect her, because now he knew she was fifty times as brave as he would ever be. And so he held her while she pulled herself together once more and, when she began to sit up and pull away from him, he pulled her back and softly kissed her on the lips.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

When Cedric had found her in the forest, Hermione had felt a certain amount of relief. Yes, it was true, she had wanted to be alone to rationalize what she had discovered, but she was also growing so tired of always pulling herself together on her own. When she was younger, she thought being alone was the normal way to deal with things; her parents had always told her that they wanted her to be an independent young woman, and that meant leaning only on herself. But as the years had passed, Hermione had begun to see how leaning on others did not make one weak but, in fact, stronger. Were the Weasleys not among the strongest people she had ever met, able to withstand so much adversity with constant cheer? And were the couples starting to pop up in their year not happier than before, using each others' strengths to improve themselves?

Her eyes, she rationalized, had slowly opened to such possibilities, and all she needed now was for somebody to be there for her above all others. She wished Harry or Ron could fill such a role, but she knew that they would always come first to each other and Hermione second. She did not resent them; it was how their life had worked out. When she was with Cedric, however, she felt as if he were listening to her and her alone, no other thoughts interrupting his attention. And though she was rather sure she was merely imagining it—he was two years her elder, after all, and probably saw her only as a cute little sister—, she wanted nothing more than for him to come tearing through the forest after her, intent only in comforting her. And, lo and behold, so he had. His approach to comforting her, however, had been quite unexpected.

When Cedric's lips descended upon her own, Hermione remained frozen in place, not quite sure what she was supposed to do. It would be a bold lie to deny that she had thought about just such a situation, but now that she found herself in it, she… had no idea how to proceed. Was she supposed to kiss him back? Did he want her to kiss him back? And how was she supposed to go about doing that? Should she put her arms around him? Or just leave them where they were? Was she supposed to pucker her lips while kissing him?

Fortunately (or unfortunately, one could say) for her, Cedric quickly realized Hermione was not participating in his display of affection and pulled away. He kept his arms around her, though, and leaned his forehead against hers. He looked the picture of confidence and tranquility. In direct contrast, Hermione was flustered and wide-eyed, frozen in place.

"Well… that's quite a blow to my ego, I'll admit," Cedric joked quietly. Hermione gasped as she felt his breath on her face. She blushed furiously, her face heating up with the rush of the blood. Still, she could not bring herself to pull away. She did not know how she felt just then. "Hermione? It'd really help if you said something. Please," Cedric pled, sounding much more strained now. The possibility of Hermione rejecting him was becoming more and more real by the second and he did not know how he would be able to deal with it. Had he just ruined their friendship permanently?

"Hey," Hermione gasped, seemingly unable to string a sentence together. She avoided his eyes, focusing instead on his hands, which were holding her tightly against his chest. He had nice hands. Heck, he had beautiful hands, wide and strong, with long fingers. She wondered whether the physiology of his hands had anything to do with his skill as a seeker. Such thoughts led her to think of him playing Quidditch, which brought her to their first meeting. Who would have told her nine months before that Cedric Diggory would become her best friend? For there was no question that was what he was; he had stood by her when she had fought with Harry and Ron, had helped her study even when he had OWLs for which to study himself, and had gone to comfort her when she had been scared. And, Hermione realized, she would do any one of those things for him as well. And so, she looked up at his face, from which he was attempting to erase the look of pain and embarrassment, and launched herself at him, planting her lips firmly on his. Some things were just meant to be.

Cedric rejoiced as he held her tighter, allowing her to set the pace of the kiss. He brought a hand up to her cheek, which he softly stroked before tucking a lock of hair behind her ear and following the line of her neck with his hand so that it came to rest at the nape of her neck. She tasted of salt—from her tears, he realized—and her lips were pliant, if somewhat chapped. But this was Hermione he was kissing, and nothing could have made the experience a bad one. He was right where he wanted to be.

The content couple sat in the forest for quite a while, holding hands in silence. Hermione kept sneaking bashful glances at Cedric who, in return, stared at her unapologetically. Whenever she looked up and found him staring, Hermione would blush and look away, her insecurities bubbling up inside her like an insistent wave that would not be calmed. Whether by some innate gift or by mere coincidence, Cedric picked up on her discomfort.

"You are beautiful," he said, unprompted, smiling widely at her.

Hermione ducked her head, attempting to hide behind her hair before realizing that she had previously plaited it. Cedric refused to allow her to hide, however, and pulled on her hand lightly, bringing her closer to him, so that she ended up sitting between his outstretched legs.

"You are, you know? You have the cutest little button nose," he leaned in and kissed it. Hermione stirred uncomfortably, but Cedric just continued. "and beautiful eyes with the longest eyelashes I have ever seen," he kissed each of her eyelids softly, "and the softest mouth I have ever kissed," he finished before finally leaning forward and claiming her lips with his. Despite her shy reluctance, Hermione found herself responding to his kiss once more. They were torn apart, however, when a loud sound, sounding much like a gong, resonated through the forest, followed by a plethora of voices. Cedric pulled away and stood up, brushing the leaves and grass from his body before offering Hermione a hand up. "It's time," he said simply.

Hermione smiled and took his hand, following his example and brushing the leaves from her clothing. Then, hand in hand, they returned to their tent, where they met Mr. Diggory, who had Cedric's ticket. The Weasleys were nowhere to be found.

"They're probably waiting for me at their tent," Hermione offered when Mr. Diggory asked how she was to get her ticket, "you two go ahead. I'll meet you back here after the match, alright?"

Mr. Diggory agreed, anxious to get to their seats. Cedric was more hesitant, unwilling to leave Hermione alone after the events of the day, but had little choice. He kissed her swiftly, earning himself a chuckle from his father.

"Meet here ten minutes after the match ends, alright? Any later and I'll go searching for you. And be careful, please. There are a lot of witches and wizards here, not all of them friends of Harry."

"Don't be silly, Ced," Hermione replied lightly, "what's going to happen, really? I think everybody is too preoccupied with getting to the game to think of harming me. They probably don't want to risk the possibility of missing the game. Now go! Shoo!"

She motioned him away, giggling. Cedric leaned in for one last peck before rushing off to catch up to his father, who had started heading towards the entrance without him. Hermione watched his retreating figure for a few seconds before gathering her wits once more and heading in the direction Mr. Diggory had told her the Weasleys were located.

After a few minutes she found their tents, easily recognizable by the discarded Muggle tools around them. The Weasleys, however, were nowhere to be found. Hermione then set off down the path, figuring they might be waiting for her at the gates. However, when she arrived there, there were no redheads in sight. She approached the Ministry witch at the door.

"Excuse me, have you seen a group of redheads around here? They are probably looking for me," she asked shyly and somewhat apologetically. She had worked at the desk of the regional fair one summer and knew how difficult it was to keep track of the people who had come and gone.

"The Weasleys, you mean? They went in already. Prime seats, they had! Even had an extra one, they did. Said they'd invited someone who decided to sit with the general admissions or some silly thing like that," the witch replied conversationally. She quickly registered the look on Hermione's face, however, and surmised the problem. "Bloody wankers! They left you out? Merlin's hairy left ball… I'm sorry, poppet. Really. But there is nothing I can do. Tickets have been sold out for months."

"But… I mean…" Hermione had no idea what to say at the moment, the great shock of having been forgotten by her alleged two best friends too numbing, "you know they have my ticket. You _saw_ it. Is there no way I can go in?" she pled.

"I'm sorry, love. The gates are magically enforced so that only somebody holding a ticket can go through. I'm afraid you'll just have to sit this one out." She really did sound sorry and she patted Hermione's hand sympathetically.

"I… I… Alright," Hermione finally managed, after attempting to start a sentence repeatedly, only to choke on a knot in her throat. "Thank you. I'll… I'll just… go," she finished, turning quickly and walking away at a fast pace, trying to put as much distance between her and the knowing old witch before the dam finally broke.

As soon as Hermione was under the cover of the now empty and desolate forest, she leaned against a tree and allowed herself to slip all the way down, so that she was sitting. Then, for the second time that day, she burst into great sobs; loud, painful sobs that shook her entire frame and which hurt her throat as they tried to overcome the huge knot that had recently taken up residence there. She kept sobbing, all by herself on the ground of the forest, until her eyes were so swollen they could hardly open, her diaphragm hurt, and all energy was drained from her body. At that point, she allowed her eyes to close freely, rested her head on her knees, and let slumber take her.

Cedric had watched the match with complete and utter interest, his eyes trained on the zooming players during every instant, even when the mascots faced off and the Veelas revealed their bestial appearances. The match had left him breathless and full of excitement and energy, and he could not wait to share his impressions with Hermione, who claimed to not like Quidditch but who had studied the theory of it as well as any Quidditch captain.

At the end of the game, as the large screens around the stadium focused on the Top Box, where the players were shaking hands with the ministers and officials, he looked around the screen for Hermione. He could see the unmistakable blond hair of the Malfoys, as well as the red of the Weasleys. He could also spot Harry's messy black mop. But Hermione's, usually so visible, was nowhere to be seen. He remembered she had had her hair in a braid, but that still did not account for her complete absence from the screen. Where was she?

Once it was all over, he was practically the first person out of his seat. He could not understand what could have happened to Hermione. The Weasleys had not looked worried in the slightest, so nothing could be too wrong, but she was obviously missing. Maybe she had stepped out to get some air? Or gone to the loo? But no, he knew that could not be true; the award-giving had lasted well over a half hour, and Hermione had not appeared at all. He was set on finding out what had happened.

The stadium was magically modified so that no noise could escape it, and so Hermione had slept peacefully through the noise of the match and it spectators. However, upon its ending, as the crowd began to exit the stadium, boisterously commenting the match, she awoke. She rubbed her eyes, which remained swollen, if much less so than before her nap, and looked around. It was dark now, and she was lying down completely on the forest ground. She got up and shook her clothes off once more, before heading back towards the tents. She had to get back to the Diggorys' camping ground before Cedric set off to find the Weasleys. If he found out what had happened, he would be livid, and that was a sight she did not want to see.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

While Hermione quickly made her way back to the Diggorys' camping space, crossing many a familiar face along the way, she struggled to pick up as many comments as possible about the game. If Cedric asked, she wanted to have a good response ready. And so, listening to those around her, she soon found herself in front of their tent. Cedric was standing at its door, his arms crossed over his chest and a stern expression on his face. Hermione tried to remember for whom he had been rooting.

"Hi! Well, that was something, wasn't it? Surprise ending and all. And that Wronsky Feint? That was just stuff of legend, don't you think?" she asked hurriedly, before the information left her mind. Auditory memorization was not her strength.

" Yes," Cedric answered slowly, "it was. And what did you think of that crazy fan who jinxed the leprechauns to turn red? What a riot he started, eh?"

"Um… yes," Hermione answered unsurely, "completely. I thought the crowd was going to jinx him."

"Ah, but they did. Very noticeably, too. They showed it on the screens and everything. Over and over again. You don't see somebody jinxed to flash bright green very often, after all," Cedric continued.

"Oh, right. I'd forgotten that…" Hermione said quietly. Cedric's expression hardened.

"Why are you lying to me, Hermione? What happened? Why weren't you at the match? They showed all these images of the Top Box and you were not there. Don't lie to me now, you know I hate it."

Hermione shrank away from him, unsure of what to do or say. She did not want to get the Weasleys in trouble; they had probably misheard her when she said she'd go find them before the match.

"I… Well, you know I don't like Quidditch, Cedric. I just decided to stay behind and read a bit. You know me, always catching up on my reading!" she joked, trying to find an excuse he would believe. Apparently, she was not doing very well.

"Where's your book, then?" he asked, his eyes serious. He was getting angry; he despised liars. "Hermione, don't lie to me. I swear, if you don't tell me…"

"Cedric, just shut up!" Hermione replied, frustrated with the situation, Cedric, herself, and, most of all, the Weasleys, "I'm allowed to keep secrets!"

"You're allowed to keep secrets as long as they don't involve the Weasleys, who struggle to get by as it is, inviting you along to activities you don't even care for. We might not be very close to them, but they are our neighbors and we respect them more than that. Apparently you don't," Cedric finished with a cold tone before turning on his heel and going back inside.

Hermione stayed frozen in place for a few minutes, struggling to hold her reemerging tears at bay. She felt like a silly teenage girl, crying so much in one day. Gathering her wits about her, though, she marched into the tent and retreated into one of the rooms. Luckily, it was empty. Not wanting to talk to anyone and pretend everything was alright, she got in the bed and let sleep take her. The pillow beneath her head grew damp with the tears her subconscious finally released.

Cedric had gone into one of the rooms, fuming. He could not comprehend at all why Hermione would agree to go with the Weasleys if she did not want to go to the match. Sure, they got their tickets for free, but the Portkey permit and the camping grounds were rather pricey and Hermione had to know that. For this reason, Cedric refused to believe that Hermione had chosen to stay behind, and so something or someone had to have prevented her from going, and it must have been something big. So, why wouldn't she tell him? Why would she lie? He could not understand.

Embittered and worn out from the game, he got in the bed and fell asleep, only to be awakened a few hours later to the sound of explosions and screams. He sat up on the bed just in time to see his father bursting into his room. He looked ashen.

"Dad? What's wrong?" he asked, feeling his father's own terror creeping up in him.

"Death Eaters," he responded, his face somber. He threw Cedric's cloak and wand at him, "get to the forest. Stay there until it's all passed, alright?"

Cedric felt the blood freeze in his veins when he realized something. "Hermione!" He shot out of bed, not even bothering to pick up the things in his father's outstretched hands, and ran to the extra room in the tent. He found Hermione sitting up on the bed, looking utterly terrified. She was shaking and her eyes kept darting about the room, trying to locate the source or the cause of the screams that had awoken her. Cedric ran to her side and pulled her close to his chest, feeling his heartbeat finally slow down slightly; she was in his arms and she would be just fine.

"Cedric! You need to go!" insisted Mr. Diggory, once more attempting to hand him his cloak and wand. Cedric finally took them, sticking the wand in his pocket and throwing the cloak over Hermione's shoulders. He then picked her up from the bed and, at last, followed his father's instructions, heading outside. He stopped suddenly, though, and turned to his father. He still remembered the horror of the days of the Death Eaters.

"Dad, be careful. Please. I love you," he said, his voice breaking towards the end.

"I love you, too, son," Mr. Diggory said, coming towards his son and embracing him. "Be careful." He then turned to the girl tucked into his son's arms. "You be careful, too, little Hermione. Look out for my son and come back in one piece."

Hermione just stared at him confused, still not understanding the situation. When Cedric turned and began to run towards the forest, she finally asked.

"Cedric? What's happening?"

Before she had time to answer, however, a stampede of people passed in front of them. Shortly thereafter, a row of four figures dressed in dark robes and masks passed through the same path. Their wands were trained above their heads, on four human figures hanging immobile in the air. Behind them followed a couple dressed much like them, their wands out but unused. Hermione screamed.

The two idle Death Eaters turned to look at them. One of them cackled, raising his or her wand and aiming it at Cedric. Before they could mutter a spell, however, Cedric had swerved and was running towards the forest, clutching Hermione tightly to his chest. Somewhere behind them, they heard another explosion.

Once they reached the forest and were deep enough in it that Cedric finally considered them safe, he set Hermione down. She turned to him, her eyes wide and worried, and looked him over for any possible harm. Once she was satisfied he was unharmed, she lunged at him, wrapping her arms tightly around him and burying her face on his chest. Cedric held her with just as much strength, tangling one of his hands in her hair and resting his own cheek on top of Hermione's head. He took a series of deep breaths.

"What was that? Who were those people?" she finally asked after a few minutes, once they had both gathered strength from the other's presence and wellbeing.

"Death Eaters," Cedric spat out, his voice resounding with hatred. "They are You-Know-Who's servants."

Hermione tensed against him before pulling away from him and looking him in the eyes. "But were they not arrested and put in Azkaban when Voldemort fell? I read that they were all in Azkaban!"

Another explosion sounded in the distance, causing the two teens to wince. Other people, mainly the younger witches and wizards from the camping site, were starting to take shelter in the woods as well.

"Not all of them. Some swore they were under the Unforgiveable—Imperius. Others denied any involvement completely. Many went free." He sounded so embittered that Hermione wanted nothing more than to hug him and never let go.

Something moved in the bushes by the couple and Cedric quickly took out his wand and aimed it at them, placing himself in front of Hermione. Hermione did not argue, though the feminist in her wanted to take up issue with his Alpha Male attitude; after all, he was almost 17 and, as such, more likely to be able to defend them if needed and less likely to get in trouble with the Ministry if he were to use magic.

Magic soon proved to be unnecessary, however, when Draco Malfoy came out from behind the bushes, accompanied by Crabbe and Goyle. He smirked at the couple.

"How very disgusting," he drawled, "a mudblood trying to socialize with someone such as a Diggory. How very pathetic. You should send her away, Ced. Don't want to give her false hope, now do we?" Crabbe and Goyle laughed, inciting Malfoy to continue. "In fact, you should probably send her back to the camp. I think she'd learn a thing or two about her place in our world back there, don't you, cousin?"

Cedric took a threatening step towards Malfoy, aiming his wand right between his eyes. "Don't you ever talk about her like that, Malfoy, or you'll find out why exactly your father is so afraid of my family. Got it?"

Cedric's voice was cold as ice and cutting as a knife. Even Hermione found herself shuddering at his tone, not even processing his words just yet. Malfoy and his cronies seemed to understand the message loud and clear as well, and they shot off in the opposite direction without another word. As soon as they were alone once more, Hermione turned to Cedric.

"Malfoy is afraid of you?" she asked incredulously.

"Not of me personally," Cedric explained, "but of the Diggorys. Or, rather, the Noble and Ancient House of Diggory. We go a bit further back than the Malfoys and have a reputation of our own. My father has fought hard to prove that times have changed, and so has our family, but I will not be afraid to claim my heritage if I need it, loathe as I am to do it."

Unable to find the words to thank him, Hermione simply hugged her best friend. Cedric was only too happy to return the embrace. The couple remained like that for what felt like hours, silently drawing comfort from each other's embrace. Every once in a while they shared a chaste kiss, their previous fight long forgotten.

When enough time had passed and the screams had stopped, Cedric and Hermione got up and started heading back towards the camping grounds; it seemed the rogue Death Eaters had been contained. What they found once they'd left the woods, however, was complete madness and panic. A large crowd of people had gathered around the edge of the woods and was staring at the sky with looks of utter horror. Cedric and Hermione followed their gaze until they found the cause of the horror.

"The Dark Mark!" gasped Hermione, all remaining color draining from her face. Her thoughts turned to Harry. If the Death Eaters had been looking to strike fear into people's hearts, what better way than to destroy the Boy Who Lived? She pulled out of Cedric's arms and started running in the direction of the Weasleys' tents, ignoring Cedric's calls behind her. Upon realizing that she was not about to listen to him, he threw care to the wind and ran after her.

He caught up to her quite quickly; an auror at the front of the crowd was restraining her forcibly as she tried to pull out of his arms and into the woods. She looked absolutely wretched and determined to get to her friends, screaming for Harry and Ron. Once Cedric got to the front of the crowd, he pulled Hermione away from the auror and into his own arms, wrapping them around her strongly, both to comfort her and to keep her from running into the woods.

"Let go of me, Cedric! I have to help Harry. Don't you understand? I _have _to!" she screamed, her voice cracking after all the screaming she had done that day.

"He's fine, Hermione. They would have told us something otherwise, alright? That'd be the first thing the Death Eaters would do; it's not terrorism if they don't terrorize you. Now, calm down, please, darling. Calm down and we will fix this. You'll see how it all works out, alright?" Cedric whispered comfortingly into her ear, along with countless other assurances. Nothing seemed to calm her, however, and he was beginning to despair. Just as Cedric was about to ask one of the aurors for help (and possibly a calming draught), a hush fell over the crowd as Mr. Crouch, Ludo Bagman, Mr. Weasley, and Cedric's own father emerged from the forest, followed by Ron and Harry. With a renewed burst of energy, Hermione finally pulled away from Cedric's arms and ran past the aurors, launching herself at Harry's arms, knocking him down to his knees. Ron joined the huddle as well and the three friends rocked back and forth as they held each other.

Cedric, now much calmer since he knew his father was safe and sound, watched on as his—girlfriend? friend? He didn't quite know what to term her and finally decided simply upon 'his Hermione,'—cried in relief as she held her two best friends who had returned to her safe and sound.

Back at the Burrow, Hermione, Harry, and Ron retreated upstairs, into Ron's room. Hermione was still quite shaken up, but was beginning to calm down as the duo recounted the night's events.

"So you don't know who cast the Dark Mark?" she asked yet again.

"Haven't the foggiest. It couldn't have been Winky, though. Of that, I'm sure," iterated Harry. His description of Winky the house-elf had left Hermione shocked; with magic at their disposal to do their chores, how dared the wizarding world keep a whole slave race? The more she learned about the wizarding world, the more it disturbed her. Racial purges and a racially-determined social ladder? Hermione knew that the war with Grindelwald had kept the wizards from really learning of the Holocaust and Hitler, but she was starting to believe that Hogwarts really should teach a course or two on it. She'd have to bring it up with McGonagall.

"That said," added Ron, ever one to keep his priorities in line, "Hermione, how come you're so friendly with the Diggorys? We knew you and Cedric were friends, but what about his father? When he found us he kept asking if we had seen you or Cedric. He was nearly as concerned about you as he was about his own son!"

Hermione's eyes widened in realization and shock.

"Bollocks!" she exclaimed, earning a shocked gasp from her two friends, "with all the frenzy once you came out I didn't even get to talk with Cedric or Mr. Diggory!"

She shot up and put her shoes and cloak back on before running down the stairs and into the kitchen. "Mrs. Weasley, would you mind terribly if I used your floo to go to the Diggorys'?"

"Not at all, sweetheart. Will you be eating over there?" Mrs. Weasley asked, true to norm. Hermione, however, was already more than halfway to the Diggorys'. Mrs. Weasley smiled silently to herself. "Ah, young love…"

At the Diggory household, Hermione emerged from the fireplace looking quite frazzled.

"Cedric! Cedric? Where are you?" she called, heading directly for the stairs to the second floor, where the bedrooms were. As she made her way up, Cedric emerged from his room, looking quite baffled.

"Hermione? What are you doing here?" he asked, taking her in his arms when she made it up the stairs and holding her tightly. "Is something wrong?"

"I just had to see you," she breathed into his chest, unwilling to let go. She was aware that she was probably being overbearing, but he had been there for her and she had just left with her friends, without even saying goodbye. "And your father! Is he home? How is he? I saw him come out of the woods, but I didn't get to talk to him! Oh, God, after he invited me into your tent and everything! What must he think of me?"

"That you were worried about your friends, Hermione. It's perfectly understandable," came Mr. Diggory's voice from behind her, "and yet, you left them and came to see us almost instantly. So, I don't think there is any issue at all. If anything, I think the Weasleys and Mr. Potter might be feeling mildly miffed, if you don't mind my saying so."

Hermione pulled away from Cedric and rushed over to hug Mr. Diggory, who wrapped his arms around her slowly and tentatively.

"There, there, Hermione. What's all this? It was just a few cowardly renegade Death Eaters. Nothing happened and we are all safe and back home, alright? So just calm down. It's alright," he comforted her, rubbing her back gently.

She finally seemed to calm down and pulled away from him, smiling weakly at both Mr. Diggory and Cedric. "I'm sorry I'm such a mess. I'll just go now, the Weasleys are probably waiting for me to eat. Um… I'll see you again soon, right?" she asked shyly.

"Hermione, I'd be devastated if I didn't see you tripping out of our fireplace tomorrow morning. Mum comes back from Turkey tomorrow, in fact, and I'm sure she's dying to see you," Cedric assured her.

With a few more smiles and a quick peck to Cedric, Hermione flooed back to the Burrow. Once she was gone, Cedric turned to look at his father, his brow furrowed. "Did she seem normal to you?"

"Son, when has Hermione ever been normal?" replied Mr. Diggory teasingly.

"I'm serious, Dad! What was with the hugging and shying and 'having to see us'? That was not normal Hermione behavior!"

"Cedric, do you realize that Hermione is muggle-born?" Mr. Diggory asked him slowly.

"Yes, Dad. I'm not completely oblivious, you know?"

"Alright, just hear me out. You and I, we fear Death Eaters because they pose a threat to our society and our friends. Short of our making a public declaration of war, no Death Eater will purposefully kill one of us; our blood is purer than pure. They want to preserve purebloods, not kill us. Do you understand me so far?" Cedric nodded, still not quite aware of where his father was going with the conversation. "Alright, now, let's think about Hermione. Hermione is a muggle-born witch and yet she is first in her class, ahead of all the purebloods. She has confronted Draco Malfoy repeatedly, once physically, from what you've said. And she is Dumbledore's protégé and Harry Potter's best friend. In a nutshell, she is everything the Death Eaters seek to destroy." He paused. "Cedric, if the Death Eaters had gotten to Hermione and had figured out who she was, they would have tortured her and then killed her, and she knows it. Do you understand now why she might be somewhat emotionally distraught?"

Cedric stared at his father in shock. He technically understood what his father was saying but his brain seemed to be refusing to process it. How could anyone wish harm upon Hermione? In the abstract, he knew that the Death Eaters sought to destroy all muggle-borns, but for them to wish to kill his muggle-born friends? Hermione and Charley and Justin and… It was baffling and just… so wrong.

"But they wouldn't have. Not really, I mean. Because these weren't really Death Eaters, right? They're renegades. They're probably too cowardly to actually kill someone. They just wanted to scare some people, right? They wouldn't have… They couldn't have… Hermione is safe, right, Dad? Right?" he asked, his voice panicked and his eyes wide. Mr. Diggory stepped towards his only son and hugged him.

"She's safe. She has the Weasleys and Dumbledore looking after her. As if that weren't enough, she has you to champion for her. She'll be fine, son."

Cedric nodded, steeling his jaw. Nothing would happen to Hermione; he would make sure of it.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Back at the Burrow, Hermione found the Weasleys and Harry just about to sit down to a late lunch. She rushed to get herself a plate and silverware and joined them, sitting somewhat uncomfortably between Fred and Bill, the only seat with some space still available. She looked around her with a sort of feeling of unease which she could not quite understand. For years, the Weasleys had been her family. Her parents were lovely, yes, but they could not understand her or her world. They saw her as a bit of an anomaly and tried to ignore the difference in her. They rarely asked about anything _magical_, and when Hermione brought it up they soon toned it out, moving on to more muggle topics 'that everybody can understand and participate in, dear. You understand.'

But with the Weasleys Hermione fit well enough. She could be as magical as she wanted, and that was truly, perfectly normal. And she could be a bit of a muggle at times, and they just saw it as a strange character quirk, not any different from Mr. Weasley's _interest_ in muggle life. And it had all worked wonderfully for a few years now. But… after the fiasco at the Quidditch World Cup, Hermione found herself feeling slightly on the outside of the family. She could not understand how the Weasleys could have _forgotten_ her. She had_ said_ she would go meet them. They _knew_ they had her ticket and that tickets had been sold out for ages, so the Diggorys could not have gotten her one.

And yet… they had left her alone, on the outside. Not even Harry or Ron had spoken up and asked to stay behind with her ticket and wait. And then she had had to lie to Cedric, out of embarrassment both for herself, at being so insignificant as to easily be forgotten by those she considered her own family, and for the Weasleys, for _having_ forgotten her. She had not had much time to dwell on the situation earlier, when she had first fought with Cedric and then had found herself fearing for her life and that of all her friends, but now, at the dinner table, surrounded by conversations that did _not_ include her… She missed home. She missed her own family, the way it had been before there had been any discoveries about her magic, and she had been able to share everything with her parents.

"Hermione? Are you alright?" Mrs. Weasley was looking at her with a look of concern. Most of the table was cleared and empty; it appeared the meal had somehow finished without Hermione noticing. She blushed.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley," she reassured her, immediately feeling guilty for her thoughts when here was Mrs. Weasley, checking up on her with all her motherly qualities on. "Just thinking too much, I suppose."

Mrs. Weasley smiled and patted her shoulder comfortingly. "There's no such thing, dear. You can never think too much," just as she said this, the sound of an explosion came from the upstairs, most likely the twins' room. "Trust me," she reiterated, a wry smile on her face, soon matched by Hermione's. "And would any of these thoughts have to do with a certain Hufflepuff neighbor of ours?" she asked, her tone too innocent to be normal.

"No!" Hermione cried, her face instantly flushing. "Well… they didn't until you mentioned him, I suppose," she admitted. Mrs. Weasley smiled warmly at her.

"Dear, I may only have one daughter, but I lived through my own young romance in Hogwarts. I know your look well," she explained. Hermione smiled, feeling much more comfortable than she had been just five minutes earlier. Mrs. Weasley was the perfect mother, really, making everybody feel at home and loved with just her presence. "I just want you to know you can talk about it with me if you want. I may only be Ron's mother, but I see you and Harry as my own, too. And it does my heart good to have one more daughter in my flock," she confided, warming Hermione's heart. She was certain that if Mrs. Weasley had gone to the Quidditch World Cup she would not have been left alone at the gates.

"Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. That means a lot to me."

Mrs. Weasley smiled warmly at her and squeezed her hand for a second before standing up and setting all the dishes in the kitchen to clean by themselves with a flick of her wand. Hermione remained in the kitchen for a short while still, watching the inanimate objects move by themselves around her. When they were all done, she finally made her way back upstairs, where she found Ron and Harry tossing a quaffle back and forth in Ron's room. They smiled up at her when she came back in, but Ron's expression soon turned serious.

"Harry, mate, Hermione's here now. What was it you had to tell us?" he asked. Hermione looked curiously at Harry, wondering what he might have to say that had to wait for her.

"There's something I haven't told you," Harry said. "On Saturday morning, I woke up with my scar hurting again."

Hermione gasped. "Oh, Harry! Why didn't you tell us? You should have told us! I wonder what caused it… I read something about scars hurting before, of course, but it's not quite the same… That's usually about war veterans with phantom limbs, and this is something else altogether, isn't it? I mean, it's a magical scar. The pain is probably magical residue… We should ask Professor Dumbledore about it. Or Madame Pomfrey! She is sure to know about this!"

Instead of the reasonable reaction she had expected, in which she might have been told to be less loud and enthusiastic, but Harry would have agreed that she was right and that he should owl Madame Pomfrey, the school nurse, he remained silent and grim. Ron spoke up, almost stuttering, obviously shocked by Harry's revelation and completely disregarding Hermione's words.

"But – he wasn't there, was he? You-Know-Who? I mean – last time your scar kept hurting, he was at Hogwarts, wasn't he?"

Hermione's eyes widened in horror as she was reminded of that fact and she turned to stare at Harry expectantly, already tossing ideas around in her head about how to protect her friend while he was out in the muggle world. But it seemed they were not necessary, as Harry reassured them that Lord Voldemort had very much _not_ gone to pay Little Whinging a visit and left Harry alive to tell the tale.

"But I was dreaming about him… him and Peter – you know, Wormtail," he explained. "I can't remember all of it now, but they were plotting to kill… someone."

"It was only a dream," interrupted Ron adamantly. "Just a nightmare."

But Hermione did not look so sure, and neither did Harry. "Yeah, but was it, though? It's weird isn't it? My scar hurts, and three days later the Death Eaters are on the march, and Voldemort's sign is up in the sky again."

"Don't – say – his – name!" Ron hissed through gritted teeth.

Hermione winced and hugged herself, the memories of the Death Eaters and the screams and explosions around her sending shivers down her spine. She got lost in the images of the terror that reminded her so much of what she had studied of the Holocaust, and completely missed the rest of the discussion until she heard Ron bring up his favorite topic: Quidditch.

"Come and have a game of Quidditch in the orchard, Harry. Come on – three on three, Bill and Charlie and Fred and George will play… You can try out he Wronski Feint."

"Ron," Hermione spat, "Harry doesn't want to play Quidditch right now… He's worried, and he's tired. We all need to go to bed," she argued, despite the fact that the sun was still up in the sky and they really had just recently eaten _lunch_, even if it had been a late one. Personally, all she wanted to do at that point was to curl up in bed under her covers and sleep, anyway.

"Yeah, I want to play Quidditch," said Harry suddenly. "Hang on, I'll get my Firebolt."

Hermione shook her head and left the room, muttering something that sounded very much like "Boys." She headed to the room she shared with Ginny and found her calmly sitting on her bed, flipping through one of her mother's issues of _Witch Weekly _uninterestedly. When she walked in, the redhead put the magazine down and sat up to look at her properly.

"Hi, there," she greeted. "Are you alright? You looked kind of peaky at lunch," she asked worriedly.

"I'm fine!" Hermione reassured her. "I was just thinking about things," she explained. Ginny wiggled her eyebrows comically.

"About a certain Hufflepuff sixth year?" she asked, and Hermione could not help but laugh. Ginny looked quite put out. "Well, it's not entirely a ridiculous conclusion!" she defended. "You looked quite chummy with him at the World Cup!"

"That's not it, Ginny," Hermione explained between laughs. "It's just that… you are just like your mother sometimes, you know?" Ginny looked like a strange mix of pride and horror at just that moment, causing Hermione to dissolve into uncontrollable giggles. "But no, I was not thinking of him. Though we _are_ quite… chummy, as you call it," she appeased.

"Ah. Well. I _did_ notice that you chose to sit with him and not us at the Cup, so I figured certain… _chumminess_ was already in motion," Ginny explained, and suddenly Hermione found herself faced with a tough choice. She could just go with their interpretation of events and pretend that she had attended the game with the Diggorys, or she could tell them the truth and explain how they had accidentally left her behind. But just the thought of how horrid Mr. Weasley would feel if he realized what he had done was enough to convince her that the truth was better off untold.

"Well, he invited me. And he doesn't tease me when I don't know something about Quidditch," she said by means of explanation. She wasn't really _saying_ that she had gone to the game with him, so it wasn't entirely a lie.

"Oh, I don't blame you. He is quite attractive. And a very good seeker himself, to boot. Just a tad old for you, isn't he?"

"Ugh!" Hermione groaned. "No, he's not! He is sixteen still, and I turn fifteen in about a month," she explained.

"And then he turns seventeen a month later, doesn't he? I remember the fifth year Hufflepuffs throwing him a birthday party on Hallowe'en last year," Ginny retaliated, obviously enjoying Hermione's distress over the age difference.

"Oh, shut up!" Hermione finally cried, red in the face. "What difference is his age to you? It's none of your business, really."

Ginny looked taken aback. "I'm sorry, Hermione, I didn't mean to upset you. You just look so taken by him, I just wanted to tease you a bit. But I'm sorry, alright? I don't think there's anything wrong with being attracted to an older guy," she appeased.

Hermione calmed down a bit and nodded, but was suddenly decidedly _not_ in the mood to chit chat with Ginny. Instead, she grabbed her History of Magic book and made her excuses, making her way downstairs to sit in the kitchen and read while Mrs. Weasley prepared dinner. When the time came, she set the table ("Only nine of us tonight, dear!" Mrs. Weasley informed her as she supervised the soup stirring itself, "Arthur sent an owl ahead, saying he and Percy will be late tonight. Ministry business. You understand.") and ate her dinner quietly, content merely in listening to the others around her. Then, as soon as it was socially acceptable, she left to go shower and go to bed. All she could think about was visiting the Diggorys the next morning.

* * *

Indeed, shortly after the sun rose the next morning Hermione was up and about, preparing for her visit to the Diggorys' later that morning. She dressed quickly and quietly, not wanting to wake Ginny up, and made her way downstairs, where not even Mrs. Weasley was awake yet. She poured herself some milk and had some of the biscuits sitting in one of the cabinets, and then proceeded to sit and wait for it to be a decent time to visit the Diggorys. And wait. And wait. Goodness gracious, she had not expected it to take her so little time to get ready!

This, of course, brought up the worry of whether she had not gotten herself ready appropriately. She looked down at the capri jeans and tank top she was wearing, and she wondered if she should change. She had gone to the Diggorys' dressed like this before, but that had been before she had kissed Cedric and they had started… whatever it was that they had started. Was she supposed to dress up now? She did not know, but these thoughts occupied her for long enough that it was quite suddenly an acceptable time to pay the Diggorys a visit, so she simply decided to go as she was.

She knew that the Weasleys did not like to use their Floo too much, since the magical powder was expensive, and so she decided to walk to the Diggory house; it was a nice morning, after all. She left a note for Mrs. Weasley and grabbed an apple from the kitchen before heading out the back door in the direction she knew Cedric to live. She was thankful for her choice of clothing straight away; it was a hot day, and she even had to stop halfway there to plait her hair, because it was growing much too hot around her neck and shoulders. By the time she arrived at her destination, the sun was high overhead and her face was flushed in a mixture of the exertion and the sun. When Cedric, who was sitting on the porch, caught sight of her, he instantly jumped to his feet, a worried expression on his face.

"Hermione!" he cried, running over to her. "Are you alright? Did you seriously walk all the way here, you foolish girl? It's the hottest day on record for _years_, what were you thinking?" But Hermione was not thinking much of anything anymore, enjoying the feeling of being cradled in Cedric's arms, which were blessedly cool around her. She sighed contently.

"Cedric? What's going on?" It was Cedric's mother, Mrs. Diggory, poking her head out the open window of the lounge after having heard her son's agitated voice. When she caught sight of Hermione, all surrounded by Cedric's arms, she smiled tenderly. "I'll be right down," she called, more quietly this time.

Meanwhile, Cedric led Hermione inside and instantly forced a glass of water onto her hands, watching over her to make sure she drank it all down, then immediately refilling it and handing it back to her. "You silly girl. What were you thinking?" He repeated, shaking his head at her in amused despair.

"I wanted to come visit you, and it was a lovely day," Hermione justified as the overwhelming sense of heat left her. "And I didn't want to use the Weasleys' Floo powder up when I could just walk here."

Cedric rolled his eyes, brushing a few loose, sweaty strands of hair away from Hermione's equally sweaty forehead. He leaned over and lightly kissed her forehead, taking the opportunity to check her temperature at the same time. It was within a normal enough range, and he relaxed slightly, allowing his gaze to drift down to the rest of her body before he blushed and quickly looked away.

"Hermione, dear!" came his mother's voice echoing down the staircase, just as he sat down next to Hermione and moved to pull her closer. He sighed and let his arms fall by his sides, instead of going around her as he had intended. Hermione beamed somewhat dazedly up at his mother, who was making her way towards them in a flurry of excitement. "It's been too long!" she continued, having finally arrived at the sitting room and sitting on the armchair across from the teenage pair. "How are you?"

"Well…" Hermione started. "Just at the moment, a bit lightheaded, I must admit," she said sheepishly, looking at Cedric out the corner of her eye. "I'm afraid your oaf of a son might have been right, and it was not a good idea to go for a walk in this sun."

"Oh, dear me!" Mrs. Diggory exclaimed as she took in the full picture of Hermione's flushed cheeks, sweaty forehead, dazed eyes, and heavy breathing. She cast a surreptitious glance at Cedric, looking like she was enjoying the situation much more than any mother should ever be and causing him to blush even more and shift awkwardly on his seat by Hermione. "Hermione, would you like me to fix you up a bit? Looks like you might have a bit of heat exhaustion," she said worriedly, taking out her wand.

"Um… that… might be a good idea," Hermione agreed awkwardly, feeling quite young and foolish. She fought the oncoming tears at her embarrassment, which caused her even more embarrassment and, consequently, caused her eyes to burn with the piling up of more tears. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, reminding herself that she was a very mature young woman, and that the influx of emotion was entirely due to her stupidly having gotten some heat exhaustion, not to her being a silly girl in the presence of the bloke she fancied. Not at all.

Mrs. Diggory had her fixed up in no time, and Hermione felt away right away. She even performed a bit of a cleansing charm on her, and the sweat was all gone, leaving Hermione feeling fresh as a rose once more. She beamed up at Mrs. Diggory. "Thank you! I feel so much better already!" she assured her. "And how have you been, now that I can properly ask? You were in… Istanbul?" she asked curiously.

"Cyprus," Mrs. Diggory corrected. "You wouldn't believe how backwards they can be, for a culture that once was allegedly the cradle of our civilization," she complained.

Mrs. Diggory worked with an international magical legislation group, focusing on human rights infractions in magical communities. She traveled often to visit problematic communities and to try and fix the situation or, at least, better understand it so as to be able to fix it in the long run. She had recently been called away to Cyprus because of a spike in the magical domestic abuse statistics.

"Well, all you have to do is look at the Welsh," said Cedric in a serious tone. "Isn't that where Merlin was from? Just think about _that_; every single British wizard, descended from the _Welsh_!" Hermione and Mrs. Diggory could not help but laugh at Cedric's affected horrified expression.

"Don't let your Grams hear you saying that, boy!" interrupted Mr. Diggory from the doorway, his tone stern. But Mrs. Diggory and Cedric only laughed harder, and Hermione figured there had to be a hidden joke in there somewhere. Mr. Diggory walked over and winked at her. "My mother's family is Welsh," he explained. "And my mother seems to be under the impression that Wales really _is_ the cradle of _all_ civilization and will inform anyone she meets of it. Loudly and repeatedly. She does not go a single day without informing everyone around her of how much she misses Wales."

Hermione smiled, now understanding. "That's rather like my mum's parents, then. We're French on that side, you see, and my Papa can't believe his descendants are English, of all things. And, of course, my dad's parents try to never let it be known that their son married a _frog_, as they so kindly put it. I don't think they've quite forgiven my mother for giving birth to me in France yet."

Cedric stared at her, his eyes wide as cauldrons. "You're French?" he cried, sounding as outraged as if she had just said she was a leprechaun in disguise, or immortal, or… the secret lovechild of Filch and Mrs. Norris. Hermione looked up at him, her face showing all the surprise she was feeling at his outrage and, hidden underneath it, a fair amount of hurt at his negative reaction.

"Well, yes. I have British citizenship, too, but I was born in France and spend the winter holidays there, with my mum's family. Or I did before Hogwarts, at least. Is that a problem?" Her defiant tone did not quite hide the tremor in her voice, and both Mr. and Mrs. Diggory looked at her with sympathetic looks, and then at their son with outraged, uncomprehending ones.

"What? No! I mean… no, no. It's just… you're _French. _And I had no idea! Do you speak French? Why do you go to Hogwarts if you're French? And why didn't you tell me?" He sounded calmer now. Or, at least, he no longer sounded like Hermione's nationality might cause him to have an aneurysm.

"Well, you never asked, did you?" Hermione replied tersely, though feeling slightly more comfortable now than she had thirty seconds earlier. "And I _do _speak French. But I told you; I'm a British citizen, too! I was invited to both Hogwarts and Beauxbatons."

"I'm sorry," Cedric apologized, finally taking note of Hermione's hostility. "I didn't mean to offend you. I was just… surprised. I promise I don't think there's anything wrong with the French or France. I… I think the French must be lovely people, since you are one," he finally muttered, blushing fiercely. His parents relaxed and smiled before standing up and excusing themselves, leaving the two teens alone. "I really didn't mean to sound upset," he assured her one last time.

"It's alright," Hermione comforted him. "I overreacted a bit, too, I suppose. You just looked and sounded so outraged, and I couldn't understand…" she drifted off, staring down at her hands, crossed over her lap.

Cedric placed his hands on hers and squeezed comfortingly for a second, before putting his arms around her and pulling her towards him and onto his lap, as he had wanted to do before his mother had arrived. "I'm sorry. I was an ass," he whispered into her hair, tickling her ear with his breath and causing her to squirm within his grasp. "Now I get to show off to everyone about my French girlfriend," he said lightly. Hermione stiffened in his arms.

"Girlfriend?" she asked, unsure of herself.

"Well…" he met her eyes shyly. "I mean… I thought so, after…" he drifted off, and each of them knew that the other was thinking about their kisses in the forest before the Quidditch World Cup. "But if you don't want to it's ok. I'm sorry. I just thought—" Hermione cut him off, throwing her arms around him and, much to her own surprise, kissing him full on the mouth. He smiled into the kiss, tightening his arms around her and pulling her closer. "Girlfriend it is, then," he wheezed out when Hermione finally pulled away for air. Hermione just nodded, her face flushed once again.


End file.
